Distance
by CMPerry
Summary: Hotch and Prentiss are saying their goodbyes when he finally says something he's been holding close to his chest for years, but her reaction isn't what he was expecting. He travels to London to win her back, but ends up involved in a case that puts all their lives in danger. Is there anything he can do to tear her away from her new life? Set just after episode 11x19 - Tribute.
1. Confession

Emily Prentiss stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, followed by her five friends. She was in high spirits, but a heavy sadness lurked just underneath as she tried to forget that she would have to return to London in just a few hours. JJ and Rossi were deep in conversation behind her, Hotch and Reid were talking shop, and Garcia was walking by her side. They all wore the relaxed, unconscious smiles of a team who had just closed a case, basking in the rare and happy few hours before the shrill ring of a cell phone reminded them that their jobs would never be done.

"I'm going to miss you, E.P.," said Garcia, giving her a nudge with her shoulder.

"I'll miss you too, P.G.," she replied as they came to a stop at the kerb and she pulled Garcia into a tight hug. She couldn't remember the last time other than funerals that she had hugged so many people in one day. It felt good, for once.

"You need to come and visit more," pleaded Garcia. "Once in a blue moon when there's a killer on the loose isn't good enough."

"I know," she said. "I promise I'll be back soon."

"Uh huh," said Garcia, with a dubious raise of her eyebrow that she had clearly picked up from Morgan. Prentiss laughed,

"I'm serious. I was so caught up with work that I'd forgotten how much I'd missed you guys." As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the rest of her old team, illuminated in the glow of the streetlights, and her gaze settled on Hotch for a moment, the only member of the team who looked completely different with a smile on his face.

"Garcia, that's our cab," said JJ, coming up behind them and wrapping her arms around both of their waists. "I miss this," she said, a genuine sincerity in her blue eyes despite the six bottles of wine they had made it through during dinner.

"She'll be back," said Garcia.

"I promise," Prentiss said.

"You'd better," warned JJ. There were several more hugs as JJ and Garcia left, followed shortly after by Reid, then Rossi. Five minutes later it was only Hotch and Prentiss waiting at the kerbside for their cabs.

"Hey you," she said, with a warm smile.

"Hey," he said.

"I feel like I barely got a chance to speak to you tonight," she said. "How are you doing? How's Jack?"

"He's great," said Hotch, that unfamiliar but never unwelcome smile crossing his face again at the mention of his son. "He's been getting A plusses in his class tests, he plays soccer on the weekends, I even think he has a girlfriend."

"You're kidding," said Prentiss, trying to imagine ten-year-old Jack running around after girls. "I swear it was only yesterday he was turning three."

"Tell me about it." A silence fell between them as they watched several occupied cabs drive by. "So you and Mark," he said, casually. "How are things?"

"You're asking how serious the relationship is," said Prentiss, with a hint of a smile, seeing straight through the seemingly vague question.

"I was just making conversation," said Hotch, returning her smile almost convincingly, but Prentiss saw the intrigue in his expression.

"We've been together for about eight months," she said. "We haven't officially moved in together but he stays at my place most nights."

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"What are you really asking me, Hotch?" she asked, the intensity in his dark eyes bringing out a sudden guardedness within her that she couldn't quite explain.

"I'm asking you if you're happy," he repeated. Prentiss's cab pulled up at the side of the road, but she barely registered it.

"But why?" she pressed.

"Because…" He trailed off for a second, letting his eyes rest on the buildings across the street for a few seconds before he turned back to her. "Because sometimes I've wondered what might have happened if you'd stayed." Prentiss took a small step back.

"You mean between us?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Nothing, Hotch. Nothing would ever have happened. You would have carried on being all stoic and professional, keeping your distance, and I would have kept telling myself that my feelings for you were totally one-sided." Hotch looked startled but she continued. "I'd have kept going on terrible dates with boring guys who could never even begin to understand me or the job I do. Then one day I'd have met someone who wasn't as bad, I might fall for him, move in with him, maybe even start a family one day, but all the time I'd be looking at him and wishing he was you. I would look at his face every morning and feel like something was missing, like something would always be missing from my life because you weren't in it." She was almost shouting by the end, and her vision was blurred by tears that she was desperately trying to keep from falling. Hotch stared at her in silence. "That's what would have happened. Because you never said a damn thing, Hotch. You never made a move." Hotch stepped towards her, closing the gap she had put between them, finally breaching the professional distance they had kept for nearly ten years. It was the first time he had been so close to her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her lips, close enough for her to kiss him.

"Well then, for the record," he said, his voice quiet and deep, "I'm making one now." She hesitated for a second as her body seemed to fall still, the air vanished from her lungs, her heartbeat slowed almost to a stop, their eyes met for what felt like an age. Then she turned away.

"I have a life back in London," she said, but the words sounded empty and disconnected as they left her mouth. She climbed into the taxi and pulled the door closed behind her, leaving Hotch standing alone on the sidewalk under the cold lights of the restaurant.


	2. Counsel

Prentiss discarded her suitcase in the hall, closing and locking the front door of her London apartment tightly behind her, and her eyes were immediately drawn to a small slip of paper on the end table by the door.

 _Em, can't find my watch. Looked everywhere. You seen it?  
P.S. Welcome home. See you tomorrow.  
Mark x _

She scanned the note, but she hadn't seen his watch since it had last been on his wrist, so she walked straight through to her empty bedroom without giving it another thought. The orange light emanating from the polluted London skyline filtered through her windows, throwing everything into unwelcoming shadow. She stripped off her jacket, shoes, and pants and crawled under the covers, not even bothering to shut the blinds. Despite her best efforts, her conversation with Hotch outside the restaurant kept playing over and over in her mind. Her rising anger, his hurt expression as she turned him down and drove away… It had kept her awake and nauseated for the entire journey back to London, and she knew that even though she was back in her own bed, she wasn't going to be able to sleep here either. She pushed herself back out of bed and rummaged in the pile of clothes on the floor for her cell phone. She pressed Video Call and waited. It rang four times, then five, then six and she was about to hang up when the call connected, and JJ's face appeared on the screen.

"Hey, Em. You home safe?"

"Yeah, I'm back," she said. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said, pushing her blonde hair out of her face. "I was just giving Michael a bath, but Will's with him now. What's up?" Prentiss sat on the edge of the bed, facing the window.

"Something happened after you guys got in the taxi," she started.

"With Hotch?" JJ asked.

"Yeah," she said. "How did you know?"

"He was acting strange today, and when I mentioned how nice it had been to see you yesterday he got all defensive and weird then he spent like two hours in Rossi's office."

"What were they talking about?"

"Beats me," said JJ. "What happened between you two?"

"He uh… he told me he had feelings for me." JJ didn't say anything, but her eyes widened in surprise. "And he said he thought something could have happened between us if I'd stayed."

"What an asshole," said JJ, jokingly.

"I kinda lost my temper."

"Well I guess that's understandable," she said. "He couldn't have made things more difficult if he'd tried. But Emily, that's Hotch. You know him, probably better than any of us, and you know he wasn't trying to hurt you."

"I'm just so frustrated!" she said, throwing herself back onto the bed. "Where was he when I was single? Where was this revelation when I lived ten minutes from his front door? Before I had made a life for myself on the other side of the world?"

"Are you saying you're frustrated because he's making you consider moving back here?" JJ asked, but there was no expectation in her eyes, just concern for her friend. Prentiss sat back up slowly and stared out of the window at the city, still glowing bright in the small hours of the morning, the smooth curve of the London Eye standing out against the angular buildings.

"No. I just... I don't know what to think," she said, wearily. "There was a time I'd have jumped at the smallest chance of…" She let out a long sigh. "Maybe it just isn't meant to be."

"Okay, well that's bullshit," said JJ, and Prentiss's eyes came swiftly back to her phone screen where JJ was looking out at her with a raised eyebrow and a dry expression. "You get to decide what happens here. There are no "meant to be's" when it comes to relationships. If I hadn't put the effort in with Will I wouldn't be sitting here with a husband and two kids; no amount of fate could have done that for me. You need to decide what's worth fighting for; the man you're in a relationship with now, or the man you've had feelings for for the last ten years."

"Hey, to be clear, I didn't have any feelings for Hotch when he was married."

"Okay, eight years then."

"I have a life here," she said, again, but the more often she said it, the more she began to questions its meaning.

"Listen, Em, I gotta go," JJ said, looking over her shoulder at the sound of squealing children. "Sleep on it, and call me in the morning."

"Yeah okay," she said. "Say hi to the kids for me. And Will."

"I will."

"Bye." Prentiss sat her phone down on the nightstand, and with no more reasons to stay awake, she lay back down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She shifted around, but she could feel something hard and uncomfortable beneath her head. She reached behind her and pulled out Mark's watch from under her pillow and smiled, and with that smile she felt the tumult in her mind settle. She sat the watch carefully on top of his pillow, but her fingers remained resting on the cool metal, and she felt herself fade quickly into sleep.

* * *

 **Four hours ago**

"Dave, can I speak to you?" Hotch asked, stepping into his friend's office and closing the door softly.

"Sure," Rossi said, putting down his pen, pushing his files aside, and turning his full attention to Hotch. "What's up?"

"I think I've made a mistake."

"Go on," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite.

He sat down and began to tell the story of the night before. At first he tried to distance himself from the events and only tell Rossi what was factual and necessary, but he was surprised to find himself swiftly transported back there, beneath the cold street lamps, the sound of traffic rushing by, the cool evening wind on his face and neck, and he recounted every detail, every emotion, while his friend sat listening attentively.

"She was so angry," he finished, staring blankly over Rossi's shoulder as his wall of bookshelves and certificates.

"I can see why," said Rossi. Hotch looked back to him. He had been rather naively hoping that Rossi would have taken his side.

"She said she'd had feelings for me in the past," said Hotch. "I thought she'd be… I don't know... less angry."

"You're acting like she's different from every person we've ever profiled," Rossi said matter-of-factly. "All you have to do is look at this situation from her perspective. You knew her for the best part of a decade but you waited until she was about to step into a taxi and go back to her career, her home, and a committed relationship in London before you told her you had feelings for her. It makes it look like you don't really want to be with her, you just wanted to be able to tell yourself you tried, even if your effort was half-assed at best."

"That's not true!"

"I know that, Aaron," Rossi said, calmly. "All I'm saying is that's how it looks. Drink?" He pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses from the large bottom drawer. Hotch checked his watch to see that it had just gone 5 o'clock; he was technically off duty although he almost always stayed another few hours.

"Sure," he said. He took the glass from Rossi and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Hotch lost in thought and Rossi studying him with curiosity. After a while, Hotch spoke. "It's not like there's anything I can do," he said resignedly, although he felt as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Rossi. "She went back to London, she's in a relationship, I shouldn't get involved."

"Jeez, Hotch, I've seen you fight harder for a seat at the bar," Rossi said, taking a sip of scotch.

"You know, you're being a bit of an ass," said Hotch, although he returned Rossi's dry smile over the top of his glass.

"I do it out of love," he said.

"What am I supposed to do, Dave?" he asked.

"You fight for her!" said Rossi without hesitation. "Believe me Hotch, I know what it's like to let someone you love slip through your fingers, and you will carry that regret around for the rest of your life. Emily's a big girl; if she doesn't want to talk to you she'll let you know, but you have to have a real conversation with her, don't just throw a giant ball of feelings at her right before she's about to get on a plane and expect her to be okay with it."

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?" Rossi repeated. "Okay what?"

"Okay I'm going to go and see her."

"You're going to London?"

"I can't let her go, Dave. Not now. She's too important."

"Aaron," Rossi said, leaning across the desk to clap him on the arm, "that might be the best idea you've had all week."


	3. Empty

Prentiss returned to work the next day, grateful for the distraction, the nagging questions about Mark, Hotch, and her life in London falling to the back of her mind as she stepped through the tall glass doors of the Interpol office. But the relief was temporary; as soon as she crossed the threshold into her bright apartment that night, she felt a weight return to her shoulders and a sense of tiredness that no amount of sleep seemed able to fix. She consoled herself with the knowledge that Mark was coming over that night after he finished work; she hoped that seeing him would reassure her that she was where she was meant to be, that she was happy here, that a life with Hotch always had been - and always would be - an impossibility.

The moment she allowed her mind to rest on Hotch, she felt suddenly very claustrophobic in the narrow hallway. All she knew was that she had to get out, had to escape the crushing anxiety and the sound of Hotch's words. _Sometimes I've wondered what might have happened if you'd stayed._ She hurried to the bedroom, stripped off her work clothes and pulled on some sweatpants and sneakers, leaving the apartment again with nothing but her keys. _I have a life back in London._ She began to run through the darkening city, dodging pedestrians until she made it to the quieter streets. _But what if you'd stayed?_ She kept running even when her sides ached and her knees felt weak, because the harder she pushed herself, the less she could think. Soon she wasn't thinking about London, or Mark, or Hotch; her mind grew hazy as she kept running, kept pushing forward until it felt as if she was breathing broken glass. Sweat ran down her spine and her legs trembled as she finally slowed to stop. She looked around and realised she was at least three miles from her apartment, standing between a row of derelict houses and an empty park. There wasn't another person in sight, and the dull hum of London traffic was far in the distance. She leant against a streetlamp, clutching her sides and trying to catch her breath when a strange voice came out of the shadows.

"Alright, darling?" She looked up to see the shape of a man emerging from the dark, walking towards her with slow, confident strides. His voice was muffled by a black scarf pulled up over his mouth and nose, and he wore the hood of his sweater low over his forehead so all she could see was a pair of cold grey eyes, glinting in the yellow streetlights. She guessed he was in his mid-twenties, and he was clearly intoxicated. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

"What does it look like?" she retorted, desperately trying to keep her breathing under control so he wouldn't realise how vulnerable she was, so exhausted that even a surge of fear and adrenaline wasn't enough to give her the energy to run.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, as he stepped into the light, evidently picking up her accent. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and as he advanced on her, she realised just how tall he was. "You're just asking for trouble, sweetheart," he growled, his voice growing quieter the closer he got. "A pretty little thing like you all by yourself." She held her breath, partly to try and get her pounding heart to slow down, but mostly to block out the stench of his breath.

"Get out of my way," she said, just managing to sound calm. He smiled beneath the black scarf, reaching out a hand to lean on the streetlamp, and he loomed over her, his other hand moving to grab her face. She brought her knee up hard into his crotch and he doubled over with a yell of anger and pain, one hand still grabbing furiously at her shirt. She caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, pushing it up between his shoulder blades until she heard something begin to crack and he let out a wail.

"Get off of me you crazy bitch," he choked. She pushed him forward and he fell to his knees, where he landed with a thud and a whimper, and she ran, not looking back. She doubled over at the first phone box she found, gasping for breath as she called the police. By the time they arrived, she could breathe normally again, although her heart was still hammering as she waited in the dark street, expecting the man to emerge at any second. Once she had given a brief statement and description to the cops, they drove her home. The familiarity of police protocol kept her calm on the drive, but as she crossed the threshold of her apartment for the second time that night, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving her shaken and frightened.

She triple checked the lock on the door before she went through to her bedroom where she sat in her usual spot on the edge of the bed, looking out at London with her knees curled up to her chest, waiting for Mark to come home and missing the days back home in Virginia when she had been allowed to carry a gun. She was embarrassed and angry; embarrassed to have found herself in that situation in the first place, and angry that it had left her so shaken, despite the fact she had faced much worse in her career. She jumped in fright when her cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby, it's me," came Mark's tired voice. "Listen, I'm stuck at the police department, there was a shooting this afternoon so I'm not going to be able to get away for another few hours. I'm just going to stay at my place tonight. Don't want to wake you."

"Okay," she said. "Hope you catch the shooter."

"Are you okay?" he asked, evidently picking up on the tension in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. "Just tired."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

She sat awake for several hours, staring blankly at the city, jumping at every sound, and wishing more than anything that she wasn't alone.

* * *

By the time Prentiss came home from work the following night, the tension from the attack was beginning to wear off, although she kept seeing the man's grey eyes every time she allowed her mind to drift from work. She was still anxious for Mark's return, partly to make her feel a little safer following last night's events, but mostly praying that his face would get rid of the ache in her chest every time she thought of Hotch. But when the door swung open at seven p.m. and Mark stepped across the threshold, she felt a peculiar sense of anticlimax. The epiphany she had been hoping for didn't come, and even looking straight at her boyfriend, she felt just as conflicted as she had been since her conversation with Hotch outside the restaurant.

Mark pulled off his police badge and sat it on the table by the door. It had 'City of London Police' across the top in large black letters, a picture of Mark's handsome face wearing a serious expression, and beside it the words 'Detective Chief Inspector'. They had met through their jobs; Emily had been liaising with the City of London Police about a string of disappearances linked with international terrorism, and after three days he had asked her to dinner. She declined twice until, admiring his tenacity, she finally agreed, and before she knew it, she was waking up to his face five nights out of the week. He looked up at her, and it was only then she realised that she hadn't spoken yet.

"You okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She switched on a smile and went to kiss him.

"Of course, it's great to see you." He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.

"I missed you," he said.

"Yeah, me too." And just like that they were back in their usual routine as if nothing had changed, because as far as Mark knew, nothing had. They made dinner together and Mark's friend Rick came round a little later, just like he did every Wednesday to keep out of the way of his wife's book club. They all shared a bottle of wine, played a few games of cards at the kitchen table, but mostly just talked about work, Rick often badgering Emily to tell him stories from her time in the BAU.

Prentiss liked Rick. He worked with Mark at the Bishopgate Police Station, and he was just the kind of partner she'd want for her boyfriend; smart and driven, like Mark, but considerably more levelheaded, and he seemed to temper Mark's unfortunate habit of acting first and asking questions later. Besides being a good cop, he was hopelessly devoted to his wife and kids, but one of Prentiss's favourite things about him was his bushy moustache that was entirely out of place on his young face, and made him look like he'd fallen straight out of Victorian London.

After she had satisfied them with a couple of her best BAU anecdotes, the conversation turned to their ongoing investigation into the gunman who had now shot two women in as many days, appearing seemingly from nowhere and vanishing again just as quickly into the anonymous London streets. If he killed again, especially in their jurisdiction, there would be hell to pay for Mark, Rick, and everyone else at Bishopgate. There was a day when Emily's mind would have been running at double time, analysing every detail the two men said, building a profile of the gunman from the very first second, but instead she looked at her watch and announced that she was going to bed.

She stood in front of the mirror brushing her teeth, looking her reflection in the eye, and she realised that despite leaving the BAU almost four years ago, tonight was the first time she no longer felt like a profiler.

* * *

The following night, Prentiss was once again sitting alone in her apartment, watching the same mindless TV shows as always when there was a knock at the door. She stood up abruptly and remained very still. She was so unaccustomed to visitors that her mind jumped to all the worst conclusions, immediately imagining the man who had attacked her waiting in the corridor, ready to try again. The knocking came again, and she pulled herself out of her anxious thoughts and went to answer the door. She pulled it open to see a very familiar face, and she broke into a smile.

"Hotch." The surprise and relief at seeing his face knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Hey," he said, warmly. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." She stepped back to allow Hotch entry and gestured towards the living room. "Make yourself at home." She closed the door, and hung back, locking the door and resting her head on the wood for a second, taking a deep breath to try and calm her racing pulse before she joined her unexpected guest.

"I'm really glad to see you," she said as she entered the living room and sat on the sofa, taking in his casual clothes and his slightly ruffled hair, only minor changes but they seemed to transform him into another man. "What are you doing in London?" she asked.

"I didn't like the way we left things the other night, and you deserve a real conversation," he said, his deep voice calm as ever, but with a note of determination. "There's so much I want to say, and I want to say it to your face." She watched as his eyes briefly scanned the room; an old and instinctive habit that every profiler acquired after long enough on the job. "Emily..." His eyes landed on a photo of her and Mark, him with his arm around her, both of them smiling out from the silver-plated frame, and she thought she saw the resolve in Hotch's expression falter. "I just wanted to apologise," he said, sounding considerably less confident, his body language changing minutely so that he looked more like his old, distant self. "What I said... it wasn't just because you were leaving for London. I meant it, but I know you're in a relationship and I respect that. I shouldn't have said anything." She felt a stab of something that felt a lot like disappointment.

"Hotch you have no reason to apologise," she said. "I overreacted and besides... I'm glad you said it."

"You are?" Hotch said, a flash of hope returning to his face. She took a slow breath, knowing that if she said the next few words, there would be no going back; she would finally have to confront four years of repressed emotion that had been building since the moment she stepped on the plane to London. She raised her head and when she met Hotch's steady gaze, she felt suddenly strong.

"I can't go on like this, Hotch," she said, surprised to find tears pricking at her eyes, and an overwhelming sense of relief filling her chest. "No matter how hard I try, I feel like -"

She heard a key in the lock, the front door clicked open, and a second later there was a dull thud as it swung back and hit the wall. Prentiss fell silent as she waited for the door to close and Mark to enter the living room, but there was only silence from the hallway. She exchanged a glance with Hotch and they both stood quietly in perfect unison, Prentiss walking cautiously to the living room door, reaching a hand out behind her to signal for Hotch to wait. She emerged into the pale hallway to see Mark standing in front of the open door, his head bowed, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Mark?" she asked, taking a step towards him, but he didn't move. "Mark," she said again, more firmly. He looked up at her and she saw that his face was spattered with blood that trailed down his neck and stained the collar of his white shirt. "What happened?" she asked, hurrying to him and taking his face in her hands. "Talk to me."

"Rick's dead," he said. She had no words to console him, so she just held him tightly when he stepped into her arms, trembling with grief. "God, Emily, what am I going to do?" Emily looked over his shoulder to see Hotch appear in the living room doorway, and as she embraced Mark, she met Hotch's eyes, and all the relief he had brought with him disappeared.

"I have no idea," she said.


	4. Walls

Mark finally stepped back from Emily, and immediately noticed Hotch's jacket by the door, although Hotch himself was still concealed behind the doorway.

"Shit, Em, I didn't realise you had company," he said, hastily wiping his face.

"It's okay," she said. "It's my old Unit Chief from the BAU." On hearing Emily's words, Hotch stepped out into the hall and approached Mark.

"I couldn't help but overhear. Aaron Hotchner," he said, extending his hand. "I'm very sorry for your loss." Mark cleared his throat and straightened himself up.

"Mark Greene," he said shaking his hand and giving an empty smile that quickly disappeared. "I've heard a lot about you."

Hotch gave a polite nod. "I was just leaving, but if there's anything I can do..."

"Actually, maybe there is," Mark said, jumping on the offer without the slightest hesitation. "You can profile the shooter, right?"

Hotch hesitated. "That depends of a lot of factors," he said. "Was this the first victim?"

"No, Rick's the third now." Hotch looked over to Prentiss who nodded.

"We've done more with less," she said.

"I'd have to come down to the station," Hotch said to Mark.

"That won't be a problem," he said, his voice growing firmer with every word. "Nobody's going to give a crap about bureaucratic red tape anymore. We need all the help we can get."

"Do you mind if I bring in someone else?"

"Who else is here?" Prentiss asked curiously.

"Rossi came with me," he said, although the didn't elaborate any further.

"Bring anyone you can. We can't let this guy kill again," Mark said. "I'll take you down to Bishopgate. Just let me clean up." Mark walked through to the bedroom to change his shirt, leaving Hotch and Prentiss standing in the narrow hall.

"Thank you for doing this," she said.

"Did you know him?" Hotch asked.

"Rick? Yeah. Not as well as Mark did; they were partners. But I guess you could say we were friends."

"Are you okay?"

"You know me," she said with an attempt at a smile.

"Will you come down to the station with us?" he asked.

"Well, since we're all throwing jurisdiction out the window," she said with a dry smile, "might as well get Interpol in on the action." They stood in silence for a few seconds, listening to the muted sounds of water running in the bathroom. "Listen, Hotch, just ignore what I was saying..." She was cut short when Mark reemerged from the bedroom, wearing a clean shirt, the blood wiped from his neck, the look of numb grief in his eyes burnt away by a dark determination.

"You ready?" Mark asked.

"Ready," said Hotch.

* * *

By seven o'clock that night they had pulled up outside the South Place hotel and Rossi stepped into the cab.

"Long time no see, kiddo," he said with a grin as he sat next to Prentiss. Only a few minutes later they arrived at Bishopgate Police Station, and they were immediately shepherded inside, up the metal staircase and into the bullpen where Mark's desk sat, indistinguishable from the nine other desks in the grey carpeted room. There were a dozen cops gathered around two long whiteboards, and their different uniforms told Prentiss that the Metropolitan Police had joined the investigation. They approached the group and one man turned to greet them, recognising Mark and Prentiss, but looking questioningly at the other two.

"Jack Harmon," he said, "I'm the Superintendent here."

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," said Hotch, shaking his hand, "and this is SSA David Rossi. We're with the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI."

"FBI?" he echoed, turning to Prentiss. "And Interpol?"

"Yup," she said. Harmon stared around at the new arrivals for a second, then shrugged.

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask. Let's get to work."

They were brought up to speed on the case quickly, and soon Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss were sitting in a row, perched on the edge of one of the grey desks, studying the large boards. Hotch and Prentiss were sitting side by side, and had she not been so engrossed in the case, she would have been very aware that the his arm was grazing hers, and she could feel the warmth of his skin through his white shirt.

"So, what's the connection between the first two victims?" Hotch asked.

"They were both women in their mid-fifties. The first vic, Kate Finlay, was a secretary for an insurance company, the second, Jean Beckett, was a teacher. We don't know if they actually knew each other yet."

"Where's Garcia when you need her?" Rossi asked. Prentiss smiled and continued.

"They were both killed by a shot in the side. The Unsub could just walk past them in the street and shoot them without drawing any attention. He'd be lost in the crowds before the victims hit the ground. Probably used a silencer too, so discretion is obviously his thing. It would be a straightforward M.O., but then there was Rick..." Prentiss looked up at the photo of Rick, the title "Victim #3" hanging over him.

"Male, thirty-five, gunshots to the head and shoulder," Hotch said pensively. "We're absolutely sure it's the same killer?"

"He matched the sketch we got from witnesses at the first two crime scenes, and it's the same calibre bullet," Mark said, appearing beside them. His voice seemed to wake Prentiss from a trance, because for the last fifteen minutes she had forgotten that she wasn't a member of the BAU anymore; she had slipped so easily back into her old role, felt so comfortable sitting by Hotch's side...

"Did Rick ever have any contact with these women?" Rossi asked, his fingers rubbing his goatee.

"We're trying to figure that out," Mark said, "but not as far as I know."

"Okay. Since one of the victims is a teacher, we should look at students as possible suspects," Hotch said. "Rossi, can you track down the head teacher of the school?" He handed him one of the preliminary sketches of the Unsub. "Try and figure out if she knew the secretary or the shooter."

"Sure."

"I'll go too," Mark said, but his voice sounded flat, his skin had taken on a greyish hue and there were dark rings under his eyes. She had never seen him look worse.

"Mark," she said, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. "You should stay. You shouldn't even be working this case."

"I'm not stopping until we've caught him," he said, pulling away and joining Rossi as they left the bullpen.

"I can see why you like him," Hotch said behind her. She turned. "He's as stubborn as you are."

"I'm not stubborn."

"You're extremely stubborn," he said, with a smile.

* * *

An hour later, Hotch's cell rang, and he put it on speaker so that Prentiss could hear him too. "Hotch we've got something," came Rossi's voice. "Both female victims worked in the same school in 2009, Jean Beckett was the maths teacher; she'd been there for about seven years, but the secretary was only there for three months doing temp work. The head teacher told us there was a kid there, David Grant, who matches the sketch. He was a real pain in the ass, didn't like anyone, but he took a particular dislike to both vics."

"Sounds like that could be our Unsub," said Hotch. "Any idea where he might be now?"

"Uniforms already searched his last known address," said Rossi. "No sign of him."

"Find out if Grant had issues with any other staff at the school."

"Way ahead of you," said Rossi. "There were three other teachers who had altercations with Grant in 2009. I've already sent their details to you. Apparently he verbally threatened them all, and he broke his Biology teacher's windshield twice. I'll fill you in on the rest when we get back. We're only five minutes out."

"Thanks, Rossi." As soon as he hung up, he opened the three files Rossi had sent to study the identities of the teachers who were now potential targets. Prentiss was already standing in front of the large map of London, pushing pins into the addresses of the three teachers. They were all within a fifteen minute walk of each other, and all fairly close to the blue pin that marked the spot where Rick had died.

"All three teachers live in the direction Grant was walking when he shot Rick," Hotch mused. Prentiss suddenly had an idea and quickly picked up her cell phone to call Mark.

"Hey. What exactly were you doing when Grant pulled his gun?" she asked. Mark sounded a little taken aback by the abrupt question.

"Uh, it was ten past five, we were one of the extra patrols sent out after the second shooting. We were just walking," he said. "We didn't do anything, I barely saw the guy's face because he had his hood up..." but he trailed off as if he had remembered something.

"Mark?"

"We were watching him walk towards us, and I was a bit suspicious of him, he was trying to keep his face hidden, walking fast with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, but I thought he looked familiar. Rick sort of leaned into me like he was about to say something, and then that's when I heard the shots. Rick must have recognised the guy from the witness sketch at the same time I did."

"Thanks, Mark."

"Yeah. See you in a minute." She hung up and turned to Hotch.

"What if Grant was already on his way to another victim tonight?" she said. "He realised that Mark and Rick recognised him and tried to shoot them both." As she threw out ideas, she felt the old, electric charge of anticipation that always came hand in hand with profiling.

"That would explain why he shot Rick in the shoulder _after_ he shot him in the head," said Hotch, turning to her. "He wasn't trying to shoot him again, he was aiming for Mark."

"That's why Rick doesn't fit the M.O.; he was never a target at all," she said. "Grant just lost it when he saw two cops."

"Which means he's devolving," Hotch said, looking at her with the same mix of exhilaration and apprehension that she was feeling. "We have to get those three teachers into protective custody." Prentiss turned from the board to face him, only then realising how close they were, so close that their arms were brushing, although neither moved away.

"I miss this," she said, before she could help herself, then hastily added, "the cases, I mean."

"It's never been the same without you," he said quietly, still standing so close that he had to look down slightly to look her in the eye. His fingertips touched the back of her hand as if he considered taking it in his, but decided against it. They stepped apart a little sheepishly when an officer approached them, handing them both a thin file. Prentiss opened hers to see David Grant's grey eyes looking back at her from the mugshot pinned to the front of the papers. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at she looked at him, but she wasn't sure why.

"Hey check this out," Hotch said, reaching across her folder to point at something on the list of felonies, but as he did so, his arm obscured the bottom half of Grant's face, and let out a gasp, realising now why he had made her skin crawl.

"That's the guy who attacked me the other night," she said.

"You were attacked?" Hotch asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, reflexively.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. She shrugged.

"There wasn't anything you could have done," she said a little curtly, returning her attention deliberately to her file. "It happened, I'm fine, it's in the past." She had no idea why she was biting his head off instead of admitting that he was the only person in the world that she would have wanted by her side that night as she sat wide awake and scared.

"God damn it, Emily," he muttered, and she was surprised to see the frustration in his face.

"What are you mad at me for?"

"Because this is half the problem, you keeping your distance," he said. "You think you have to handle everything by yourself, but you don't. Suffering in silence isn't noble, it's stupid and it stops anyone from ever getting close to you."

"Oh please, you're one to talk," she shot back, becoming suddenly angrier than she intended. "You practically invented suffering in silence." They both turned at the sound of the elevator opening, and saw Rossi and Mark emerge, Mark stopping for a moment to talk with his Superintendent. "You know what? This isn't the time for this discussion." Prentiss's eyes returned to Mark for a moment and she felt the emotion drain from her.

"You're not going to leave London, are you?" Hotch asked. It wasn't really a question; he seemed to already know.

"I can't," she said. "He just lost his best friend."

"What about you? What about your happiness?" he asked.

"I can cope," she said, dryly.

"This is your _life_ , Emily, you're not supposed to just cope."

"You're right," she said. "This is _my_ life, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop trying to run it for me. And don't act like you don't have your own motivations for getting me back to Virginia." The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them, and she regretted them immediately. Hotch's jaw stiffened, but he remained where he was. "Hotch -" She started an apology, but he cut across her.

"Here's the thing," he said, his voice low, "it wouldn't matter if you were with Mark, living in London, living in Virginia, living in China, I don't care, I would still love you and there's not a damn thing I can do about that." Prentiss felt her breath freeze in her chest. "I'm not going to deny that I want to be with you, but what I want most is for you to be happy, and I know you're not happy here."

"I could be," she said, managing to sound resolute despite still reeling from Hotch's words. _He loves me._ "Besides," she said, "this isn't about me."

"Well maybe it should be for once," he said. Before she could reply, Rossi was approaching them across the bullpen.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he took in their expressions.

"Fine," said Prentiss, and Hotch let out a dry laugh.

"We've got two of the three teachers under protective detail but we can't get in contact with the third, Stuart Foster."

"Well then we'd better go find him," said Prentiss, picking up her coat from the back of Mark's chair and heading for the door, hurrying from Hotch's gaze before she did something stupid, like telling him she loved him too.


	5. Hunted

Prentiss paced the empty parking lot for almost five minutes before Hotch and Rossi came through the metal door to join her.

"Well we figured out Grant's stressor," Rossi said. "His step-father died last week. I guess that goes some way to explaining why he's running around killing his school teachers six years after he graduated."

"Any idea what's making him kill them in the first place?" Prentiss asked.

"Hard to tell," said Hotch. "Maybe he felt alienated in school, maybe the teachers gave him a hard time, or his home life was troubled, we'll have to ask him."

"I guess that's the good thing about unarmed cops," Prentiss said. "You usually get your Unsub back in one piece."

"Yeah, well I'm not so sure how I feel about chasing an armed killer without anything to defend myself," Rossi said.

"Tell me about it," Prentiss said. "It's been four years and I'm still getting used to it. It's just as well I'm a desk jockey now. Anyway, I was only half-serious; SCO19 will follow us in when we track down Grant."

"SCO19?" Hotch asked.

"It's like the London Met's version of SWAT. They'll be armed and they'll take care of everything." She looked over her shoulder to the door of the parking lot. "Mark's not coming?" she asked, very aware that they were on borrowed time.

"He is," said Hotch. "He said he'd be a couple minutes."

"Okay," Prentiss said, handing Hotch a set of keys. "You two go on ahead to Foster's house, see if you can figure out where he is. I'll follow on."

"Okay," said Rossi, hooking the keys from Hotch's outstretched palm. "Let's give this right-hand-drive thing a shot. Hotch was about to turn for the car when Prentiss reached out suddenly to stop him. She had meant to touch his arm but instead her hand found his.

"Please be careful," she said.

"Really?" Rossi said from over her shoulder. "Because we were just planning to run straight at him waving our arms around." He illustrated his meaning, striking an uncanny resemblance to one of those inflatable air dancers that flailed around in front of used car lots. Prentiss looked at him dryly and he got into his car, flashing her a mischievous wink as he did so.

"I mean it Hotch," she said, picking up as if she hadn't been interrupted. "When I saw Grant in the street the other night, it could only have been about five hours since he killed Jean Beckett. He was hammered, but he was cocky too. I don't know if he was drinking to celebrate or forget, but either way he's dangerous and unpredictable."

"I'll be careful," he said, but he must have seen the worry in her eyes because she felt his fingers tighten minutely around her hand and he added, "I promise." Prentiss nodded, and watched as Hotch climbed into the car and Rossi reversed rather tentatively from the space, all the while with a knot in her stomach and the unshakable feeling that something terrible was going to happen. As Rossi passed her on his way out, he rolled down the window.

"Don't worry about me, by the way," he said. "I'll be fine."

"You be careful too, Rossi," she said, shaking her head and smiling at him.

"No, no, it's too late for that," he said, with mock indignation, rolling up the window.

"I'm serious, Rossi!" she called, but before she had even finished her sentence, he had driven from the parking lot on the wrong side of the road. The feeling of dread in her chest lessened slightly with Rossi's attempts at humour, but when Mark joined her a moment later, his expression determined and his eyes empty, she felt it return stronger than ever.

* * *

Mr Stuart Foster, biology teacher and vintage car aficionado was walking along the quiet London street, in and out of the patches of orange light from the streetlamps, thoroughly enjoying the peace.

"What do you say we check out that little carnival down the road?" he asked, addressing the dalmatian trotting happily by his side. "I think it's open late, and Terry from work says they do a great burger. What do you think, Charlie? Will you promise not to tell Debbie I cheated on my diet?" The dog was looking up at his owner, blue eyes fixed intently on him, listening carefully to his words just incase there was a command in there, or the promise of a treat or a trip to the park. They walked together down the unusually deserted street, with only the click of Charlie's claws on the pavement and Stuart's occasional comments breaking the silence.

"Isn't it awful what happened to Jean?" he said sadly, and the dalmatian looked up at him again. "And that secretary Kate Finlay. I remember her. Always smiling. I mean, what are the chances? Two women from the same school..." He felt a little shiver run up his spine at that moment, and he found himself glancing over his shoulder. There was a woman walking the opposite direction on the other side of the street, and a man walking behind him, so far back that he could barely see him through the shadows, but other than that the road was empty. Charlie continued to trot along, tail wagging, stopping occasionally to sniff at a hedgerow or a wall, completely unfazed. Stuart, however, increased his pace, suddenly very keen to be in amongst people, and he was relieved to see the glow of the carnival as he rounded the corner, a large yellow and red ferris wheel guiding him in like a lighthouse.

He pulled Charlie's leash tighter as they entered the crowd, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had crept into his bones like a chill. He kept looking around, studying the brightly lit faces, tourists mostly, no one familiar. For a split second he thought he recognised a face, but when he looked back, they had vanished into the crowd, and he chalked it up to his imagination. He took a steadying breath, telling himself that he was being stupid, and headed for the burger stand. He bought his cheeseburger and dropped a bit of meat for Charlie, but when he looked down at the polystyrene box he realised that his appetite had vanished. He pulled off another bit of meat for the dog and dropped the rest in the bin, waiting for Charlie to finish before setting off again into the crowd. He kept scanning the throngs of people as he walked around the small carnival, feeling less and less like he was looking for someone and more like he was being looked for.

Then he saw him.

David Grant, staring at him through the swarm. For a second he felt relieved to see a familiar face, but the look in Grant's grey eyes made him go cold. Just as quickly as he had appeared, Grant vanished again into the sea of anonymity. For reasons that he couldn't explain, the expression in Grant's eyes scared him, terrified him even. Rather than leave the brightly lit, public space, he hurried to the base of the ferris wheel, pressing a pocketful of coins into the attendant's hand and waiting for the next seat to come around, hoping to get some distance from the suffocating crowd, as well as a better vantage point.

"Sorry mate," said the attendant. "You can't take your dog on." Stuart looked down, having almost forgotten that Charlie was there. He led him around the corner to a patch of grass by the ferris wheel, tying him to the fence and promising he'd be back soon. Charlie whined as he left, pulling on his leash to follow him, but Stuart was already round the corner, climbing on board the wheel.

By the time Stuart had reached the top and was looking out over the vast, glowing web of London, his heart rate was slowing and he started to feel a little silly. He taught upwards of four hundred students a day; it wasn't unusual to see former pupils around London, and it wasn't unexpected that they wouldn't always come up to him and say hello, especially when, like David Grant, they had been out of school for over six years. He was just a bit shaken by the deaths of the two staff members; overreacting about nothing. And besides, Charlie had been completely unconcerned, and he was usually an excellent judge of situations.

When the bar finally lifted from his seat and he stepped out onto solid ground again, Stuart was feeling much better. He thanked the attendant and went to untie Charlie who was lying on the grass waiting for him. But as he neared, he realised something was wrong. The dalmatian didn't stand to greet him like he usually did, with his tail wagging, panting with delight as if he hadn't been sure his owner would ever come back. When Stuart dropped to his knees beside his dog, he found his fur soaked in blood from a wound in his neck, his pale blue eyes open and glassy. Dead. "Oh Charlie..." He was about to call for help when he felt something cold and hard on the back of his neck.

"What's black and white and red all over?" came a breathy voice behind him. He froze in terror. "Stand up," commanded to voice. Stuart did as he was told, so tense at the feeling of a gun on his spine that he thought he might shatter. "Good boy."

"David?" he asked shakily. "David Grant?"

"You remember me, do you?" he asked. "I'm surprised, considering you never gave two shits about me in school."

"I care about all my students, David. Even after they leave school." He was surprised by how calm his voice sounded, while terrified tears slid down his cheeks. He had never been a religious man, but at that moment he was praying, praying that anyone might see him standing in the shadow of the ferris wheel with a gun to the back of his neck and his dead dog at his feet. "I can still help you," he said. "Whatever you need."

"You're twelve years too late for that, Mr Foster," he said.

"Why are you doing this? Please, David, I have a wife, I have three kids."

"Oh I had no idea," he sneered in mock surprise. "You should have said. I'll just go, shall I?" He pulled Stuart around to face him. "God forbid something should happen to your precious family."

"What did I do to you?" he asked, now unable to keep the panic from his voice.

"Nothing!" Grant said, his face contorting in fury. "That's the point! You knew what my step-father was doing to me and you did _nothing_."

"What he was doing to you?" Stuart echoed. "I promise, if I had ever suspected you were in trouble I would have helped you. I didn't know anything about that, David."

"You're lying. I saw you two talking and laughing at all those parents' evenings. Talking about me, I bet. That's why my step-dad donated so much money to the school. It was to buy your silence!"

"No, you're wrong," Stuart said. "I swear I didn't know, David, please, put the gun down."

"David Grant, F.B.I.!" Stuart felt himself get thrown round, and he felt David's arm lock around his neck, the gun now pointed at his temple. Two people were facing them, a woman and a man. The man was dark-skinned, muscular, and had a look of fury in his eyes. The woman was dark-haired, American by the sound of it, but neither of them had guns, and Stuart felt his heart sink. "Put the gun down, Grant," said the woman. "You're surrounded, it's all over." David looked around the carnival, and when he saw no evidence of more cops, he stayed exactly where he was.

At the sound of her raised voice, people had started to notice the situation in the shadows of the carnival and they began to flee, some slowly at first, unsure of what they were seeing, but as more and more people became gathered in the frightened crowd, voices rose, people pushed and panicked and tried to escape from the danger they had been so oblivious to.

Stuart was thrown around again as David turned to see two more figures behind them, two dark-haired men in suits, and for the first time, Stuart felt a glimmer of hope.

"The armed police have arrived, Grant," said one of the men, another American who had a serious frown on his face. "If you want to get out of here alive, you're going to have to put the gun down."

"They need to pay," he growled, turning back and forth between the two pairs of cops like a trapped dog, unwilling to turn his back on either. "They all need to pay." Then without warning, there was a deafening gunshot and Stuart felt hot liquid run down his front. Then he felt his body hit the cool grass, and a darkness began to close in around him as he watched dozens of pairs of feet running from the scene, their panicked screams muffled by the dreadful ringing in his ears. Then there were more gunshots. He felt another body fall near him, and at the very corner of his shrinking vision, he saw one of the dark haired men on the ground. The last thing he heard before the darkness pulled him in was the woman's terrified voice.

"Hotch!"


	6. Sacrifice

The firearms unit appeared from nowhere, emerging from between terrified civilians, materialising from the shadows behind the fairground rides, and within seconds they had descended upon Grant. He was forced face down into the ground with more than a little help from Mark, and the gun was snatched from his hands. Just as swiftly, Prentiss was by Hotch's side.

"Hotch?" He was lying on his back with a bullet hole in his shirt, his chest rising and falling fitfully, his face pale. "Hotch, speak to me, please." But all he could manage were pained gasps as he clutched his chest. She felt hot tears of panic in her eyes, but she blinked them furiously aside as she tore back his shirt to assess the damage. But instead of seeing a gunshot wound, she saw the bullet crushed and deformed by his black bulletproof vest. She hastily pulled the velcro straps off and Hotch tore the vest from himself with a gasp and groan.

"Never gets any easier, does it?" Rossi asked, pulling Hotch to his feet. Hotch shook his head with a wry smile, rubbing his hand across his bruised chest and trying to regain his stolen breath.

"Why the hell are you wearing your vest under your clothes?" Prentiss asked, not even waiting for him to recover a little. "God damn it, Hotch, I thought you were dead."

"Sorry," he croaked, still leaning slightly on Rossi and looking down at his shirt which was now hanging loose and open from his shoulders. "I think you owe me a few buttons."

"Sorry," she said, smiling against her will, the intoxicating relief making it impossible to stay angry. "I can't say I ever imagined myself tearing your shirt off in the middle of a fairground." Rossi leaned into her ear.

"Exactly where _did_ you imagine yourself tearing his shirt off?" She felt her face turn scarlet.

"Shut up," she said, shoving him in the shoulder, not with any real malice, but firmly enough to send him stumbling slightly, and she had to duck swiftly out of the way when he went to return the favour. Rossi's spirited grin was rubbing off on her, but it didn't disguise the pallor in his face from those few, torturous seconds when they heard the gunshot and saw Hotch drop to his knees. Prentiss turned back to Hotch, wishing the warmth in her cheeks would dissipate.

"That, uh... that came out wrong," she said a little sheepishly. Hotch laughed.

"Don't worry about it."

"Ma'am?" Prentiss turned around at the new voice to see a paramedic standing behind her, dressed head to toe in dark green, with her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that reminded Prentiss of JJ. With everything that had been going on, Prentiss had barely noticed that four ambulances were now lined up in the street, black SCO19 vans, cop cars, the whole shebang. As she watched, she saw Mr Foster being wheeled into one of the rigs on a gurney.

"Mr Foster, is he okay?" she asked.

"He's in a serious condition," the paramedic said. "But yeah, he's stable."

"So he'll live?" she pressed.

"He'll need surgery, but I'm confident he'll make it." Prentiss breathed a sigh of relief. "Now can I ask you to come over to the ambulance so I can take a look at you."

"I'm fine," she said.

"You're bleeding," said the paramedic. Prentiss looked down at her body and sure enough, there was a little stream of blood soaking its way down the fibres on her loose sweater from a wound in her shoulder. She turned her body into the light to see that the skin on her shoulder had been split open by a stray bullet, leaving a trench in her flesh several inches long. Even as she examined it, she felt nothing besides mild curiosity as she watched the red stain grow.

They were shepherded over to an ambulance to be checked over, and Hotch and Prentiss were put in the back of one of the rigs, sitting side by side on a gurney while Rossi stood at the door to keep them company. After they both refused to go to hospital, Hotch was quickly given the all clear and the paramedic began to patch up Prentiss's shoulder. Prentiss watched the scene in the street through the square of the open ambulance doors, feeling almost as if she were watching a TV show. Off to the right, Superintendent Jack Harmon was standing by a dark van, talking to the head of SCO19; straight ahead of her she saw Mark push Grant into the back of a police car; and to her left, another ambulance wailed into life, carrying a victim of panicked crowds. When she finally looked back to Hotch he was wearing a look of dark concern.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Why didn't you think I'd be wearing a vest?"

"I didn't know we had any," she said, frowning at him. "Where did yours come from?" Hotch's eyes landed on Mark and his expression turned cold. "Hotch, what is it?"

"Mark gave vests to me and Rossi at the station when you were down in the parking lot," he said. "He told us that he'd bring two more for you and him. He didn't bring them, did he?" Prentiss didn't say anything, and Hotch stood up and stepped out of the ambulance.

"Leave it, Hotch," she said, pulling away from the paramedic to follow him, having to physically put her hands on his chest to stop him. "He just forgot. He's got a lot on his mind."

"You could have died," he said, tearing his eyes from Mark to look at her, his brown eyes alight. "You should be the _first_ thing on his mind." He paused for a moment and he sighed. "I know you're always the first thing on mine."

"Hotch..." Before she could say anything else, they were interrupted by Mark walking quickly towards them, Superintendent Harmon just a few paces behind.

"Brace yourselves," Mark said with a wry smile, joining them at the back of the rig and turning to face his superior.

"Are you all out of your goddamn minds?" Harmon yelled as he stopped in front of them. "SCO19 were two minutes out but you thought you'd better storm in there unarmed and almost get yourselves killed?!"

"It's my fault, Boss," said Mark immediately. "I didn't think we could wait, so I went in."

"Don't even get me started on you, Greene," he snapped. "You shouldn't have been anywhere near this case. You endangered dozens of lives today because you were too wrapped up in your own grief to think like a bloody cop." He paused and took a breath, evidently trying to calm himself as he turned to Prentiss. "I can just about understand why you felt the need to follow him in, but you two," he said, turning on Hotch and Rossi, "what's your excuse?" They exchanged a glance before Hotch replied.

"Prentiss is one of us, Superintendent," he said. "We'd follow her to hell." Harmon looked furious but seemed unwilling to push his luck against the two formidable agents over whom he had no authority whatsoever.

"Greene, I don't want to see your face in my station for a week."

"You're suspending me?" Mark asked.

"No," Harmon sighed, although it sounded almost as if he wished he were. "I'm strongly suggesting you take compassionate leave."

"Thanks, Boss," he said.

"Don't thank me," he said. "I'm not doing it for you, I just don't want to look at you." He turned and walked off to talk to SCO19 again as they readied themselves to leave the scene.

"I'd say I got off pretty lightly," Mark said with a smile, and Prentiss saw the irritation grow on Hotch's face; she only just stopped him from confronting Mark by grabbing the back of his shirt and holding him firmly in place, although neither Rossi nor Mark noticed anything was wrong. As Mark leaned against the back of the ambulance, his smile dropped a little, and it seemed like a wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him; a feeling Prentiss knew well, as the adrenaline of catching the Unsub dissipated and the grief and loss returned; a painful reminder that no amount of justice can bring someone back from the dead.

"We should go," Prentiss said, wincing slightly as the paramedic appeared behind her and firmly pressed a dressing onto her wound before she could escape again.

"When are you guys going back to Virginia?" Mark asked.

"We're flying out tomorrow afternoon," said Rossi.

"So I probably won't see you again," Prentiss said.

"Probably not," Rossi said.

"I'll let you say your goodbyes," Mark said, pulling the car keys from his pocket. "Thank you both for all your help," he said, shaking their hands firmly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I put you in danger running in there like that."

"If you hadn't, I think Mr Foster would have been leaving here in a body bag," Rossi said. Mark nodded gratefully and turned to his car.

"Okay, well, take care of yourself, kiddo," Rossi said, turning to Prentiss hugging her tightly.

"Always do," she said. She turned to Hotch who smiled slightly, although she thought she detected a look of resignation on his face. "Bye," she said, but the word came out as little more than a choked whisper.

"Bye," he said. She couldn't bring herself to hug him, because it would mean far more than it should, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to let go again. "Look after yourself," he said.

"I will." She turned for her car without another word, but as she crossed the street, Rossi caught up to her.

"Listen, a word from the wise," he said, turning her around to look at him, "you might feel like you're doing the right thing right now, but in ten years you're going to look back on your life and see a hundred decisions that you made to protect someone else. Ten years, and you might find that you don't have very much left, and you'll be wishing you'd let someone else make the sacrifices every once in a while. Believe me, Emily. I know."

"I'll take that under advisement," she said. Rossi sighed and smiled.

"No you won't."

"Thank you," she said, putting her hand on his arm for a second, before she turned for the car again, leaving Hotch and Rossi behind.

* * *

Prentiss and Mark spent most of the journey home in silence, for different reasons. They both kicked off their shoes as soon as they closed the front door of the apartment and went through to the living room, easing themselves onto the sofa. It was almost midnight, but no matter how exhausted they were, they would never be able to sleep.

"Can I do anything?" she asked, running her fingers gently over Mark's short hair as he sat with his head on her shoulder.

"No," he said, closing his eyes. She could only see part of his face, but he looked dreadful, as if weight of the last few days was finally crushing down upon him. Prentiss knew exactly what it was like to see a colleague die, to watch helplessly as the life bled out of them, but the worst part of it was, she knew that there was nothing she could possibly do to make Mark feel better. It was just something that needed time, so she sat beside him, not saying anything, lost in her own thoughts about Rick and his family.

"Actually maybe there is something you can do," he said, after almost ten minutes of silence.

"Anything," she said.

"Go back to Virginia."

"What?"

"You should go back to Virginia," he said, lifting his head to look at her properly.

"Yeah, I heard you," she said. "I just don't know where this is coming from."

"I've been watching you today, with Agent Rossi and Agent Hotchner... especially Agent Hotchner." She felt her cheeks grow warm although there wasn't even a hint of accusation in his voice. "You were barely recognisable. I always thought you were just a quiet person, kinda reserved, and that never bothered me, but today... Em, the look on your face... it was like you came alive, you lit up. I've never seen you happier, and that broke my heart because I've known you for almost a year and I've never seen you like that, I never knew you were unhappy."

"Mark, I'm fine," she insisted, trying not to betray how much his words resonated with her. "And besides, I'm not going anywhere. You just lost your partner, I have a job -"

"Listen to me," he said, cutting across her and taking her hands firmly in his. "If losing Rick has shown me one thing, it's that you have _no_ idea when your time's going to be up, especially in our line of work. There isn't time to be unhappy, Emily, there isn't time to live a half life somewhere you don't want to be. If Agent Hotchner and Agent Rossi are anything to go by, you've got an incredible team back in Virginia who would walk through fire for you." Prentiss smiled.

"See?" said Mark. "That's the look I'm talking about. You go do whatever it is you need to do to get that look back on your face."

"But what about you?" she asked, her pulse rising, as if her heart were voicing its impatience, beating against her chest until she finally took Mark's advice.

"Well Rick's left me his wife and four kids," he said. "So I'm going to have my hands full."

"They don't have any other family?" she asked.

"Most of them are up in Scotland, a few cousins in Ireland, but no one close besides me. And anyway, Rick and I always promised we'd look after each other's families if something happened to one of us, and I intend to keep that promise."

"You're a good man, Mark Greene," she said, standing up.

"It's a blessing and a curse," he said with a tired smile. He stood up beside her and held her close for a minute. "Go and be happy, Em." She stepped back and took a long look at his handsome face.

"I will. But for the record, you made me happy, Mark, I swear. It just..."

"Wasn't enough," he finished. "I know. Now get out of here. I get the feeling you've got some agents to track down."

She slipped her shoes back on and left the apartment, holding her cell phone between her ear and her uninjured shoulder and she pulled on a jacket to cover her bloodstained sweater. The first call she made went straight to voicemail, but when she dialled the next number, a voice answered.

"Hey, Rossi, where are you?" she asked, as she hurried down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

"We had to switch to an earlier flight," he said, and behind his voice she could hear the low buzz of a crowd, and the monotonous tones of a PA system. "All hell broke loose back home, we need to get back ASAP."

"You're gone?"

"Not yet. We've just arrived at the airport now." She could tell from his voice that whatever was going on in Quantico was serious - very serious.

"Heathrow airport?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, emerging onto the quiet street and hailing the first empty cab that drove by.

"What?"

"Am I really going to have to do a last-minute dash to the airport?" she asked breathlessly. "Heathrow airport," she added to the driver as she hastily climbed in to the black cab and slammed the door.

"Why? What's going on?" Rossi asked.

"I need to speak to Hotch. I need to see him. Will you ask him to wait?"

"I'll try," he said. "But you'd better be quick."


	7. Waiting

Prentiss ran under the huge sign that read "Departures" and into the airport. At 1 a.m., it was almost deserted except for a handful of travellers lining the walls, fast asleep with their heads on their luggage, which made it very easy to spot Rossi standing by the escalators, and even easier to see that he was alone.

"Rossi," she said, coming to a stop in front of him and trying to disguise her breathlessness. "Where is he?"

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he said. "I tried to get him to wait but he just kept saying he wanted to get back to Quantico." She stared at him in disbelief, but his sombre expression didn't waver. "I'm sorry," he said again, squeezing her arm sympathetically. "But I really tried."

"He didn't wait?" she breathed. "Are you kidding me?"

The frown on Rossi's face only lasted a few more seconds before a smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he said. "I'm completely kidding." He nodded over her shoulder and she turned around to see Hotch standing behind her with a grin on his face.

"I wasn't going anywhere," he said. In her relief she ran towards him and threw her arms around his neck, feeling his hands wrap tightly around her waist, almost lifting her from the ground. They were both grinning as they stepped apart.

"I can't believe you just did that to me," she said.

"Well, what's a last-minute dash to the airport without a bit of drama?" Rossi joked. Prentiss shook her head, unable to wipe the grin from her face as she turned back to Hotch.

"Rossi said you needed to speak to me?" he said.

"Yeah. I owe you an explanation," she said, her smile fading to a look of sincerity. "I wanted you to know that I never meant to mess you around like this. I made you fly half way around the world because I yelled a bunch of feelings at you outside a restaurant, and then completely shut you out when you got here, even though you've done nothing to deserve it. I've been a total asshole."

"Emily," he said gently. "You don't have to explain a thing. Sitting on a plane for seven hours was a small price to pay to get to see you. And as for shutting me out, you were only doing what you thought you was right - " They were interrupted by a woman's voice echoing from the PA system across the tiled walls.

"Could Mr Rossi and Mr Hotchner please make their way to Gate 11 as your flight is about to depart."

"You should go," Prentiss said, although a wave of disappointment sank over her. "You've got a case to get back to."

"Rossi, could you?" Hotch asked, nodding to the check-in desks.

"Sure," said Rossi.

"Where's he going?" Prentiss asked.

"To move us to a later flight. Come on, let's go get a drink."

They found a pub with ease and sat down at the dark wooden bar, the overhead lights warm and low. They were alone except for the bartender and one man sitting at a table in the corner, staring out at the black runway and the hundreds of coloured lights blinking and glittering across the tarmac.

"I still feel like I owe you an apology," Prentiss said, as she placed her second beer down on the bar and fiddled with the beermat underneath "I uh... I've never stayed anywhere for very long, especially when I was a kid, so it's always just been easier not to let people in, so that when I move on again it won't hurt me, you know?" She glanced up at Hotch to see him watching her intently, before returning her gaze to her glass. "And I think that's why I left Quantico. It was just habit, I'd been there for so long that I started to panic because I could feel myself getting close to people. So I came to London and I kept kidding myself that one day I'd wake up and I'd have moved on, and there wouldn't be this weight on my chest that hit me like a train every morning when I woke up and realised I was three thousand miles away from you. I kept telling myself: _tomorrow; you'll forget about him tomorrow_. Then before I really noticed, four years had gone by and I was still in love with you." She felt her heart leap in panic as the words slipped out of her mouth, but she kept going regardless. "You're the only one, Hotch. All my life I haven't let anyone in, and you're the only one who got in anyway. And I'll be honest, I'm a little out of my comfort zone, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

"If it's any consolation," Hotch said, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." He reached out and put his hand on hers. "There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't miss you." She felt the fear vanish and she smiled as she met his deep eyes, but after a second the confidence in his expression vanished. "I can't help wondering what might have happened if you'd known how I felt about you sooner. It's my fault; I know I can be cold, I'm not surprised you couldn't tell I had feelings for you."

"I don't think you're cold," she said, turning her hand to lace her fingers between his. "I think you're one of the kindest, most compassionate people I've ever met."

"Thank you," he said, smiling down at their interlocked hands. "So, what happens now? Are you going to move back to Virginia?"

"No, I think I'm going to stay in London," she said and Hotch's face fell instantly. "I'm kidding," she laughed. "There's an opening at Interpol in D.C. and I'm going to apply for a transfer. It'll be a step down from Chief - God knows how I'm going to explain it to my mother - but it's a small price to pay; I really feel like I need get back home. It won't be Virginia, but I'd be close enough for you to visit, if you want to." He turned on his barstool to face her properly.

"I've been without you for four years," he said. "If I had my way, I wouldn't go another minute."

* * *

By two a.m. they were on their fourth round of drinks, and by three a.m. there were tears of laughter streaming down Prentiss's face as Hotch recounted stories of his first few months in the BAU with Rossi. At five a.m. they had left the bar, and were sitting near Rossi with their backs against the cool wall, feeling tired and contented. "What about the case?" Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at Hotch. "When I called Rossi it sounded like it was bad."

"I'm sure the team can manage without us for a little while," he said. "And besides, we'll be back in the Bureau by the end of the day. What about you?" he added. "When will you fly out?"

"Not for a few weeks," she said. "I want to go to Rick's funeral, I've got to sell the apartment, tie up some loose ends at work, that kind of stuff. And besides, Garcia's coming to visit in a couple weeks, so it wouldn't be fair to deprive her of a holiday."

They sat together on the floor, talking until the sun came up, while Rossi slept stretched out along five seats, occasionally snoring loudly.

"You know, Matt Cruz has been asking about getting you back in the BAU since the second you left after JJ's abduction case."

"Really?" She hadn't wanted to bring up the subject of a position at the BAU, but now that Hotch had, she felt a rush of excitement.

"Apparently Strauss never shut up about you," Hotch continued. "And you must have made a good impression of Cruz, too."

"Exactly how badly does Cruz want me back?" she asked, intrigued.

"Badly," he said, sincerely. After a moment of consideration, she said:

"Tell him I'll only consider it if I'm back as a Senior Agent."

Hotch smiled. "Done."

"And I'm going to need an office. And I want paid whatever Rossi gets paid, I don't care how much it is. If I'm going to be an equal rank, I don't want a cent less."

"Yes ma'am," he laughed. He pulled out his phone, wrote down her demands in an email and sent it to his Section Chief. Within five minutes he had received a reply. Hotch handed her the phone with a grin. "Welcome back, Agent Prentiss."

* * *

As the sun rose across the runways and filled the white-tiled building with watery orange light, Hotch and Rossi's flight switched from ' _On Time'_ to ' _Go To Gate'._

"That's our cue," said Hotch, standing up and collecting his bag from under Rossi's chair and nudging his friend awake. "I guess I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Do me a favour," she said, addressing both Hotch and Rossi who was now sitting up, looking more tired than they were. "Don't tell anyone I'm coming back. I really want to see the look on their faces."

"No problem," said Hotch.

"Although he's going to have trouble keeping that stupid grin off his face when he's at work," Rossi said, and Hotch rolled his eyes. "See you soon, kiddo." She hugged Rossi and he headed off towards departures to give the two of them some privacy.

"Bye," she said, hugging Hotch too, but as they drew apart, she hesitated. It was only for a second, but it was long enough for Hotch to take the hint and catch her lips in a soft kiss. She felt the air vanish from her chest as she felt his warm skin on hers; the feeling she had only dreamed of for eight years, and it was everything she had imagined. And so much more. As they stepped apart, she couldn't stop smiling.

"It's going to be a long three weeks," she sighed.

"Very," he agreed, smoothing a piece of her dark hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her cheek. "But you, Emily Prentiss, are absolutely worth the wait."


	8. Always

The month that followed created a series of lasting memories for Emily Prentiss, some seemed inconsequential at the time, others life-changing, but they all stayed with her nevertheless.

The first of these was Rick's funeral. As the sun rose over London, pulling the new day unwillingly with it, Prentiss was already awake, sitting on her usual perch on the edge of her bed, staring out at the skyline. She watched as the reflections in the windows of the tall buildings changed from a warm orange to a bright white, and for the first time, she realised she would miss the view. She got ready slowly, as if she could delay what was going to happen that afternoon, but despite her efforts, twelve o'clock rolled on. The thought of going home to Hotch in a few weeks was all that was getting her through as she pulled on her black dress, shoes, and coat, and left the apartment.

She stood at the back of the church when she arrived, catching a cold breeze from the open doors. The room was packed with family, friends, and colleagues and she didn't want to intrude. But after a few moments, Mark caught sight of her and waved her over to sit next to him and Rick's family.

"How are you doing?" he asked as she sat down beside him.

"Okay," she said. "You?"

"I'm okay," he said, and she was glad to see that he seemed to mean it. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Prentiss smiled. "Yeah, I did. I'm moving back to Virginia in a few weeks."

"Glad to hear it."

The funeral went as well as could be expected, and soon Prentiss was standing in front of the church, expressing her condolences to Rick's family and bidding Mark one final goodbye.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"Wouldn't have missed it," she said, hugging him tightly. Even though she knew beyond all doubt that she was making the right decision to leave, she couldn't help the stab of regret she felt as she stepped back from Mark for the last time. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Don't you worry about me," he said with a small smile. "I'm going to be fine, and you... you're going to be amazing." She said goodbye to the few familiar faces, mostly cops, and made her way through the quiet crowd towards the centre of the city.

* * *

A week later, Prentiss worked her last day as Chief of Interpol, the apartment was sold to a couple from Belgravia, and Garcia would be arriving in Heathrow airport any minute. Prentiss stood patiently at the Arrivals gate, her mind wandering back to her last experience in this airport and keeping her very much entertained as she waited. A few minutes later, Garcia arrived in a flurry of excitement and luggage. As they made their way back to the flat, Garcia filled her in on what seemed to have been a very eventful few weeks, which included a high-security jail break, thirteen escaped serial killers, and Hotch being framed for attempted terrorism.

That night as Garcia was taking a shower, Prentiss called Hotch.

"You were arrested by the DOJ?" she asked, as soon as he answered the call.

"Uh, yes."

"And now there are thirteen serial killers on the loose and a target on your back?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"You have enough going on right now," he said. "And besides, there wasn't anything you could have done." Prentiss was about to voice her frustration when Hotch spoke again. "I'm really glad you're coming back soon, and not just because I don't want to go another day without you." She smiled and her annoyance melted away. "We're really going to need you here."

"Just six more days," she said.

"Six days too many."

"Listen, I gotta go, Garcia's coming. I'll speak to you soon."

"Okay," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said, without so much as a second thought, a warm glow in her chest at the sound of the words. "Bye."

"Who was that?" Garcia asked as she entered the kitchen with a towel twisted around her head.

"Nobody," she said, but Garcia's eyes narrows slightly and she smirked.

"Nobody my ass." But she didn't press the topic anymore, and the next five days passed in a blur of good food, wine, and old stories.

The day after Garcia flew back to Quantico, Prentiss locked the door of her apartment for the final time, handed the keys to her neighbour, and headed for the airport, smiling the entire way.

* * *

Prentiss sneaked into the BAU on Monday evening while Hotch had the rest of the team occupied in the Briefing Room. He had even roped Morgan in to joining them. She had been looking forward to her reunion with the team since the moment Cruz had accepted her terms and reemployed her at the Bureau. Keeping her excitement hidden from Garcia for a solid week had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done, and that was certainly saying something. She stood out of sight and listened to Hotch's deep voice as he addressed her friends.

"We all know how serious this situation is, and we're going to need all the best people working with us to re-profile and recapture each of these thirteen escapees. That's why we've got a new team member joining us." Prentiss heard a ripple of muttered interest from the group. "I'm sure you'll all join me in welcoming her with open arms. I think you're going to like her." With that, Prentiss stepped inside the Briefing Room.

"It's you!" Garcia exclaimed. "You're back!" The rest of the team turned in their seats to look at her, their eyes wide, smiles even wider, and Prentiss stared around at their wonderful, familiar faces, but a second later her expression grew dry.

"You all knew, didn't you?" she asked. Suddenly they all looked a little shifty. "Seriously? I wanted it to be a surprise!" She scanned their faces until she landed on an apologetic-looking Rossi.

"I may have let something slip to Garcia..." he said.

"And I may have told Morgan," Garcia said, sheepishly.

"But I only told Reid," Morgan said. "And Savannah, but she's my wife so that doesn't count."

"I didn't tell anyone," said Reid, not quite meeting her eye. "Except JJ," he added.

"And I had to tell Will, obviously," JJ said. "But other than that, we were _very_ discreet."

Prentiss couldn't wipe the grin from her face as she looked around at her family, just as she remembered them, as if the last four years had been one long and unhappy dream.

"I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but you have no idea how much I've missed you guys," she said, and they all rose to wrap her in a many-armed hug. She couldn't remember ever feeling so compressed or so happy.

After the group dispersed slightly, Hotch approached her, still keeping a professional distance that told her he hadn't made their relationship public yet.

"Do you want to go to dinner tonight?" he asked quietly.

"I'd love to," she said.

"That's a great idea," Reid said, appearing next to Prentiss. "Hey, guys, you want to go out to dinner?" The rest of the team voiced their approval and collected their belongings, and before they knew it, Hotch and Prentiss's date had turned into a full-scale event. They returned to the same restaurant where they had eaten several weeks before, this time with Morgan in tow. Hotch and Prentiss ended up a few seats apart, separated by Reid and JJ, and they would occasionally catch each other's eye across the table, brief glances and stolen smiles that told Prentiss that he was just as impatient to get her alone as she was. Just as they ordered dessert, Hotch rose from his seat and walked behind Prentiss, leaning down to whisper quietly to her.

"Can I speak to you?" She rose from her seat and followed him away from the table and towards a quiet corner by the door. She felt JJ's curious gaze on her as she left, but everyone else seemed oblivious.

"I don't think we're going to get a lot of privacy tonight," he said.

"It doesn't seem like it," she laughed. She noticed Hotch seemed a little nervous as he stood before her, but he took a breath and seemed to steady himself.

"I told you once that I didn't want to go another day without you by my side," he said, "I know this might seem fast, but to me it's the only thing in the world that makes perfect sense." Prentiss's eyes widened and her heart began to hammer as she figured out where this was going. Before he could continue, there were footsteps behind them and Rossi passed them by to fetch something from his jacket.

"Agents," he said with a curt nod and a smirk.

"Dave," Hotch said, waiting anxiously for Rossi to be out of earshot. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he was sure they couldn't be seen, he took her hands.

"If I ask you to marry me, will you say yes?"

"Yes," she said, a great wave of joy rising up within her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, feeling him smile against her lips as he pulled her in close.

"Agents," came Rossi's voice as he walked back past them again, his smirk even wider.

* * *

Emily Prentiss stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, followed by her six teammates. She thought back to the last time she had stood on this spot and the weight that had been lurking inside of her, dragging her down. Now she felt a curious mix of calm and excitement. She felt at peace for the first time in decades because she knew she was safely back where she belonged, and she couldn't wait to see what the future would hold. It was no longer a frightening abyss of the unknown, it was a place of endless possibilities, and she knew she could handle every single one of them as long as she had Hotch by her sides and her friends at her back.

Prentiss stepped out to the side of the road to look for a taxi, but there were none in sight. She heard a gasp and turned to see Hotch just behind her, down on one knee on the sidewalk, a blue velvet box in his hand. Garcia squealed with excitement, JJ and Reid gasped aloud, Morgan's mouth fell open, and Rossi just grinned as they watched the scene unfold.

"Emily Prentiss," said Hotch. "I have known you for ten years, and loved you for most of that time. I made the unforgivable mistake of not telling you how I felt sooner, but I'll be damned if I make that mistake again. I want to spend every possible moment of the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the great honour of being my wife?"

"Yes," she said, for the second time in the space of an hour. Hotch rose and kissed her, and their friends erupted into applause and cheering. They all crowded around the couple, admiring the engagement ring, congratulating them both, and demanding to know how all of this had come about.

"Looks like you guys got your surprise after all," Prentiss laughed.

"I'll say!" said JJ. "Come on, I want to hear everything!"

"That's a hell of a story," Rossi said, guiding the group towards the bar next door and flashing a wink back at Prentiss and Hotch. "And I happened to have a front row seat to the entire thing." Prentiss and Hotch let Rossi distract the rest of the team with a no doubt very embellished version of events, while they furtively crept into a cab and headed for Hotch's house, finally alone.

* * *

The next morning, Prentiss woke up before her alarm clock and lay with her eyes closed, taking a slow breath and waiting for the knot in her stomach to return like a punch in the gut, just like it did every morning. But this time it didn't come. Instead she became aware of an unfamiliar weight on her left ring finger, and opened her eyes to see a sparkling diamond glittering in the Virginia sun that was filtering in through the curtains. She heard Hotch move beside her and felt an arm pull her close. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and she turned to look at him, as if to confirm that this wasn't all a dream. He was looking down at her with warmth in his brown eyes, studying her face with a look of absolute contentment as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"This is never going to get old," she whispered, looking up at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Waking up next to you."

She lay her head down on his chest and smiled, feeling for the first time in her life that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, and nothing in the world was going to drag her away.


End file.
